Cold, Hard Metal
by Ericka Jane
Summary: Dead. Jack is dead. The cold iron fist clenches my heart and I find it hard to breathe. My attention has turned to the gun, the weight of it, the cold, hard metal in my hands and the destruction it holds. Warning:Language and suicide. Revised 9/13/08.


Cold, Hard Metal

_It was one of them cold as fuck days and the last thing I was expectin' was a pretty blond knocking on my door. I stared at her, curious and expecting._

"_Can I help you?" I asked, leaning against the door way slightly._

_She swallowed, "I'm Lureen Twist…"_

_I blocked her out from shock at that moment. Jack's wife was in my doorway without Jack. Suddenly she said one word that snapped me back to the present._

"_Died."_

"_I'm sorry, what?" I asked, not knowing if I had heard right._

"_I said, Jack died on the highway changing a tire. The tire exploded and the rim hit his face, broke his nose and his jaw. Before anyone could get there, he drowned in his own blood."_

_I froze. I couldn't breath, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything. Laureen had tears in her eyes but from what Jack had told me, she would never let them fall. At least, not in front of me._

That was two days ago. The pain is unbearable. Everywhere I go I see him, his face, Jack fuckin' Twist. He's always there, gnawing at my heart, my head, as is Lureen's words.

_Next thing I knew, Laureen was slapping me. _

"_I know you two were in love! Do you expect me to be so stupid? How his eyes never lit up around me like they did when you were mentioned or when he was getting ready to leave for this goddamn place! He loved you more than life itself!" Laureen shouted accusingly_

_I blinked._

"_I know he had to have asked you to stay with him! I know he wanted to be with you!"_

It's funny, I never valued the feel of a gun or the weight it had in my hands, or its destruction. It was just a weapon, just some metal that could get you meat when you needed it or protection. It never came to mind that it could be salvation. I can feel the liquor buzz in my blood, lighting it on fire, and it occurs to me that the buzz is nothing compared to when I was around Jack, when his skin was touching mine, when his lips were smashed against my own.

Another sob rips from my throat as I remember those first kisses, the fear and the anticipation that came with seeing each other, the words he said to me, both loving and hurtful.

"_If you hadn't been so fucking scared he would be here right now! You would've been there to save him!"_

I didn't bother to tell her that it probably wasn't a tire rim that broke Jack's beautiful, perfect face. It was probably a fucking tire iron but she probably already knew that anyway, she just wasn't willing to say it.

_She tried to hit me again but I caught her arm, she yanked it back. _

"_Why couldn't you love him as much as he loved you?"_

I did. I did love Jack as much as he loved me and it scared the shit outta' me. The only difference was that he was willing to face it and all I wanted to do was run.

I take another swing of the liquor and get out of my beat up truck, feeling more tears cloud my vision as I stumble to the ground. I climb to my feet, as I grip the gun in my right hand and clutch the liquor bottle in the other, my arms shaking from the pressure I'm putting on both items.

I stare at the scenery around me like it is made for tragedies, like it was made for this exact thing. I drag my feet to the last place I saw Jack alive, the last place that I held him, screamed at him, kissed him, loved him. The river is running with a steady rush, clear and beautiful, and the sound mirrors the pounding of my heart. I stare at the hill that rises up slightly by the bedside of the river and I can actually see Jack standing there, hands in his pockets, his expression pained as he begs me to find a way for us to be together, for us to live. I close my eyes against the memories that assault me.

"_Sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it"_

"_I wish I knew how to quit you!"_

I open my eyes and collapse to my knees, unable to hold myself up under the influence of the liquor and the grief that is threatening to rip me apart. The tears come fast as they turn into pure, raw sobs that tear from my chest, burning with each breath. It hurts so much, so much more than I could ever think possible, and the only comfort I have is the weight of metal in my right hand. With shaky hands, I bring the gun to my head. I take a breath and open my eyes. I can almost feel his arms around me again and it only pushes me to end it. I open my mouth and shout, the sound guttural and angusihed.

"JACK!"

I pull the trigger.


End file.
